After
by The Professor of Writing
Summary: Oneshot collection to give each and every companion, Doctor, and lovely character a proper send off. Will include Classic characters, and has a couple of Torchwood sendoffs too. Oh and will have feels! MUHAHAHAHAHA!.
1. Chapter 1: Without Him

Without Him

The universe has a saviour. A champion to many. That man is The Doctor. He is a Time Lord, a man who can change his face that travels around in a rackety old police box fighting evil. He has saved the entire universe thousands of times, and yet almost no-one knows who he is. Those whose lives The Doctor has touched have been changed forever. They become heroes of their own, carrying on his work.

And yet, for one moment, for one insignificant moment of time and space, The Doctor never existed. He fell into a crack in time, erasing his life; everything he ever did never happened.

Earth became the capital of a new Carrionite Empire, while the Racnoss waged war on the cosmos. Reality split apart as metal men clashed in thousands of parallel universes. The Time War raged on into eternity, trillions upon trillions of life forms and planets destroyed. Platform One was destroyed in when Sol expanded, the great and the good of the universe dying with it.

Thousands of parallel realities sprung from The Doctor's non-existence. In one, Great Britain was ruled by Werewolves. In another, Gallifrey was restored on Earth, the descendants of humankind eradicating their ancestors. In another, Earth fell under Dalek rule. In another, all the stars in the sky disappeared, reality was destroyed by Z-Neutrino Energy. Creation was destroyed a thousand times over by threats that could have been prevented.

Oh, there were heroes, but they all fell without The Time Lord to protect them. Rose Tyler was killed after investigating the Nestene Consciousness. Martha Jones, suffocated in The Royal Hope Hospital on the moon, while half the Earth's brains fried. Donna Noble, sacrificed to wake the Racnoss. Amelia Pond, killed by Prisoner Zero while the Earth was incinerated. Clara Oswald, captured by the Great Intelligence, trapped in Wi-Fi forever. Sarah Jane Smith, Ian and Barbara Chesterton, Dorothy McShane, Perpugilliam Brown, even Vislor Turlough, all dead because of him.

A Time Lady was killed because he did not exist. She was destined to become Lady President in the true reality. She was killed in the first day of the Time War. Her name was Romanadvoratrelundar.

In one universe, there was another Champion. He liked to be known as The Master. He was sent to kill the Daleks before they were created. He died valiantly, and caused the destruction of his own people. He just wasn't The Doctor

In one universe, all civilisations except the one on Earth were wiped out. The humans imagined a saviour, and spent all their resources on creating him, making their finest actors portray The Doctor. They spent almost one hundred years trying to make a saviour that would never come

And yet…

In one, insignificant dimension, all was well. The Daleks never left Skaro, never learned of other races or Time Travel. From there, Gallifrey never went to war with them, The Oncoming Storm was never created. River Song's life was never destroyed, she lived peacefully, with two loving parents. The Ponds themselves never died in the 1970's, decades before either of them were born. Lynda with a Y lived on and became famous, The Sweet Little Gamestation Girl. Jabe the Tree form, living on, selling land in the outer rims of the galaxy, ashamed of her lack of action in the Platform One incident. Captain Jack Harkness, mortal, stranded, but alive on twentieth century Earth. Chan-tho, never knowing of the secret her hero the Professor held. Astrid Peth, shareholder in Max Capricorn Cruisers. Luke Rattigan, living on, rich, famous, arrogant, but _alive. _Clara Oswald, never splintered into a thousand pieces, never died hundreds upon hundreds of times. Adric, never left Alzarius, never met the Cybermen, never flew the _Earthshock_ into the Planet Earth, never died. None of them new of what they could be, but not one of their lives was destroyed by the Time Lord known only as The Doctor

In just a second, every single life in the universe was in jeopardy every single second of every single day. Until, one day, in the universe where it all started, Amelia Pond remembered her imaginary friend. It was an event no-one could have predicted. No-one can explain it. Maybe, just maybe, the universe couldn't deal with reality without The Doctor. And in that one moment, the universe granted Amelia Pond fantastic power, and let her bring The Doctor back…

_**OK, I know I said I don't do oneshots. Well, I lied. Rule number one people. The Professor lies as well. I may do oneshots every now and again, this is just a prologue to a oneshot story I am planning.**_

_**Also the idea for this particular oneshot goes to ilikedan, who wrote about the time between Big Bang 2 and The Doctor's 'rebirth'. I just wanted to expand on that, but make it my own. Cheers!**_

_**Also, I heard David Tennant say in Doctor Who confidential for the End Of Time that The Master is The Doctor gone bad, so I reversed that here.**_

_**Also I mentioned our universe! Yay! Hopefully you can spot it; otherwise you're a bit of an idiot in my view.**_

_**This will be a set of oneshots where I do a little bit on each companion.**_

_**Cheers,**_

_**TPOW**_


	2. Chapter 2: Undead

Undead

"_You want to watch the dead man die again?"_

_The young man screamed in anguish as his world crumbled around him._

"_Owen, just stay calm…"_

"_Oh why should I do that__? Where's the fun in that? I'm gonna rage my way into oblivion."_

"_Owen please stop-"_

"_Why? Give me one reason why! One __bloody good reason why _I should stop screaming!"

"_Because you're breaking my heart."_

Doctor Owen Harper's eyes snapped open. He'd taken to doing this about six months ago. He figured he might as well he should try and remember what sleep was like, before his eyelids rotted away. He groaned, remembering the last time he had seen her. He missed her smile, her concern about him, even more so since the _incident_ at the Reset facility. Ever since he had died. He missed all of them, Jack, Gwen, Suzie, even Ianto, but he missed Tosh the most.

He'd been lying in the remains of the nuclear power station for the best part of three years now. Three years. If he was still alive he'd be thirty. Dead before thirty. He'd have preferred dying. Oh, if only he had given Jack the code to the mortuary before he had died. At least it had been quick. Getting shot. This was… Oh God this was awful. He'd watched as his legs had rotted, six months after he had been trapped down here. All he had left now was his chest, a couple of entrails, his right arm, left hand and shoulder, one ear, half a nose and six teeth. His brain was fine; he was perfectly conscious, perfectly aware of what was happening to him. He'd had no contact with anything living in thirty-five months, twenty-two days and eight hours. He knew because he checked the clock every once in a while. Owen groaned and the same thought that had run across his head every time he had looked at it over the past three years flashed through his mind once again: '_Bloody thing'll be still ticking when I'm fully gone_.'

He felt so sad, so, so sad. He couldn't express his emotion. Not since his tongue had decomposed. Not since his tear ducts had dried up. He missed everything. He even missed his job. He was probably the only man in the world to regret not having a job. He could barely remember what they looked like, all except for Tosh.

She'd sounded odd when they had last spoken, on the day he had truly died. Like something was horribly wrong. But she was ok. He knew it. She could pull through anything. That was his Tosh. He hoped she'd moved on, maybe with a new team-member. He didn't want her moping around after him. That is, if she had loved him as much as he selfishly hoped she did. What was the use? His remaining arm flapped uselessly, trying to move a bit of the rubble to move into a more comfortable position. There was a piece of glass nearby that he could use to destroy his brain. Look at that. A dead man contemplating suicide. He groaned. A long time ago Owen had hoped that they would come and find him, but quickly banished that thought. They couldn't see him like this. They'd be traumatised. Doctor Owen Harper sighed as the day began again.

One more day in hell.

XXXXX

_Seven years later…_

Owen couldn't move. He had no flesh left, no skin, no hair, nothing. He was a head and a sternum. It was perhaps a cruel twist of fate that his eyes were the last thing in his body to decompose. He thought he heard something crunch nearby. He'd assumed that his senses would stop working now that he had basically nothing left, but he could still hear. The massive slab of concrete in front of him shifted slightly, and a dark haired man in a World War Two Air Force trench-coat was there.

"Jack." Owen managed to croak. He didn't know how, but he did it, his voice hoarse due to ten years of not being used. "Jack."

"Owen?" Jack's voice was soft, sad. "Hey buddy."

"Where're the others Jack?" Owen asked, moving his jaw slowly, hoping it didn't fall off.

"Gone."

Owen's heart plummeted. Or, as he coldly reminded himself, he felt sad. He didn't have a heart anymore. That had gone soon after his legs. "Even –even Tosh?"

Jack's eyes glistened, "The same day you did."

Owen felt as though someone had dropped a pick-up truck on him. He sobbed by pure reflex. All those years hoping she'd be ok, hoping that she was happy, all for nothing. "Oh shit."

Jack nodded, "Gwen lasted the longest, only died last year, zapped back by a Weeping Angel."

"Ianto?"

"Not long after you and Tosh."

Owen mentally nodded, what was left of his facial muscles creasing into what could be read as a frown. Jack reached down and scooped him up, holding him in his hands. "Leave me Jack."

"No."

"Please. I don't want to live much longer, not without –not now I know that Tosh is dead. If I know you, you'll try and bring me back properly, and I don't want that. Leave me here. I've only got a couple of months. Let me rest Jack."

Jack recognised the desperation, the fear, the _grief_ in Owen's tone. He nodded slowly, setting Owen's head down on the concrete, self-consciously checking to make sure he was in a suitable position. He faced Owen towards the setting sun. "Goodbye Owen."

"Goodbye Jack." Owen's voice was thick with emotion. Jack saluted, and Owen rolled his eyes, but was grateful nonetheless. Grateful for the company after ten years.

Three months later, Jack came back to check on his old friend, and only found a skull. He picked it up and took it back to the newly rebuilt Hub and put it in the mortuary, wherein lay an aged Gwen Cooper, her husband Rhys who had committed suicide after hearing what had happened to his wife, and now a felt lined box which Jack placed Owen Harper, Torchwood Three's longest lived Medical Officer. Jack could almost feel Owen's non-existent eyes still upon him as he locked the door, turning away so that his old friend couldn't see the tears running down his face.

**Hey everybody.**

**I hope that gave the suitable amount of feels intended, I'm only on Children of Earth Day Three and I already miss Tosh and Owen so much. They're like my only OTP, and they're both dead. Honestly!**

**Anyway, here's chapter 2 of my one-shot collection, I hope it was good. Thank you everybody!**


	3. Chapter 3: The Old Soldier

The Old Soldier

Wilfred Mott sat in the hospital bed, the IV tube leading to his arm slowly dropping its restorative liquid into his arm. Here he was, ninety-five years old, and had not seen hide-nor-hair of that magical man since Donna's wedding. She was happy, and Sylvia had gone on to her retirement home, with enough cash to live quietly out the rest of her days without worry. He had seen to that. Donna was out doing her charity work, campaigning against all sorts of things. Maybe her experience really had changed her, even if she didn't remember why.

But now Wilf was dying, and nothing could save him. No amount of love from his family, no amount of drugs from the doctors could solve that. He smiled weakly. This old man was finally getting his rest. He just wished The Doctor could have seen what Donna had done. Oh, he probably had. He was probably up there in his TARDIS, looking down from on high, looking down at his Donna, the DoctorDonna. Oh, how he hoped that he could see that young-old face one more time, just to tell him that he would be ok, that no matter how much suffering he would go through, that he would pull through, that he _should _pull through, no matter the cost. Because the universe needed the Doctor. Just like Wilf needed air to breath. Because it couldn't be any other way.

"Mr Mott?" the nice young nurse who was looking after him entered the room. Williams, he thought his name was. Oh, all information was deserting him now, just like it had Netty all those years ago. Tears stung Wilf's eyes, and he wiped them away furiously. No, no he couldn't think of her. Not after she died. "You have a visitor. An old man."

Wilfred didn't know any old men, not anymore, but he bade Williams send him in. A man with floppy, thinning, greying hair hobbled in. He clutched at a walking stick. His face was wrinkled, his clothes crinkled and old, looking like they belonged somewhere in a museum. His eyes were youthful though, blazing out of his face, filling Wilf with new energy.

"Doctor?" he uttered, daring to hope.

"Hello Wilfred." his voice was like sandpaper, hoarse and dry. The Doctor sat down, laying his stick by Wilfred's bed.

"You don't look in fighting shape my friend."

"No, Wilf I'm not. Not anymore." the Doctor sighed. "I'm dying."

"Well so am I." chuckled the old man. "But can't you just change again?"

The Time Lord shook his head, "Not anymore. I can only do it thirteen times. Thirteen Doctors. I've rather exhausted my supply, probably slightly foolish of me, but that's that. Can't change the past. Not from where I'm standing."

"What do you mean?"

"I've only got a few minutes. Then I have to go."

"Go where?"

"Back to my war. Look at me. Do I look in shape to be fighting a war against the Daleks?"

"But I thought you said that was the Time War?"

"Well, yes. I'm trying not to let it resume. Didn't think it would take so long though. Might call Jack next. He could help. Yes, yes…" the Doctor started mumbling incoherently, tears springing to his eyes, fists balling up in his hands. Wilf reached over to help his old friend, but as soon as he started, the Doctor stopped, looking at Wilf sadly. Wilf's own eyes watered.

"You're dying."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Wilf nodded, affirming the Doctor's suspicions. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes, preventing Wilf from noting the tears that sprung out of the Doctor's eyes.

"How long have I got Doctor?"

"Not long. Not long now Wilf."

"Tell me."

The Doctor ran a withered hand through his hair. "A couple of hours at most."

"Then stay. Please Doctor."

The Time Lord thought only for a second, before he nodded slowly. The two old men sat and talked for a while, swapping stories. Wilf was right though; the Doctor had been up to a lot since they had last met. After a while they lapsed into silence.

"Don't give up hope Doctor."

"What?"

"Please. You'll sort it out. I know you will."

"What if I don't? I can't Wilf. Not this time. There is no way I can come out on top here."

Wilf's reply was stern, "Don't you talk like that!" stern enough to break the Doctor out of his apathy, "Don't you give up hope. You've never failed us before, and you won't do it again! I believe in you." He grasped the Doctor's hand, clasping the Time Lord's hand within both of his own. "If not for me, do it for Donna. Please Doctor. You can't give in."

Wilfred's voice faded away, his grip relaxing on the Doctor's hand, the machine behind him emitting one final beep. Wilfred Mott breathed his last, and the Doctor cried for half an hour, before a blue-white teleport beam brought him back to Trenzalore. "Alright Wilfred. One last bow. One last battle, to end this war."

With that he turned away, turning towards the Dalek ship that hovered over the town called Christmas.

XXXXX

The funeral was quiet, only for friends and family. Sylvia Noble cried softly into a white handkerchief, whereas her daughter Donna could barely express her grief. She had gone completely pale, her hand clutching at her husband's, her other resting on the swell of a pregnant stomach. In the trees behind the funeral stood an older man, wearing a navy Crombie-style overcoat and button-down shirt. He had close-cropped grey hair and a sharp face. When the Noble family had moved away, he stepped out, holding a large multi-coloured bouquet.

"I just want to say thank you." he said in a soft Scottish lilt, his voice heavy, "For telling me to hold on. Thank you Wilfred Mott. Thank you for believing in me."

He set the flowers down, and did something completely out of character for him. The Doctor saluted the old man's grave, before turning away, and walking out of the cemetery, towards a faded old Police Public Call Box, the first tears of a new body coming to his eyes.

**I'm sorry!**

**Ok, here's Wilf, and I wanted to give him a happy send off, but then I remembered I'm evil, so here you go.**

**I'm so happy I extended it to include Capaldi, and I hope he's as good a Doctor as I hope. The next one will be more uplifting, I promise.**

**In my head, the Eleventh Doctor would probably have wanted to say goodbye to some people when he realised he would die on Trenzalore during **_**The Time of The Doctor**_**, so here is something based on that. The Doctor is somewhere in between losing Handles and the final scene.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4: Doctors

Doctors

Surgeon-Lieutenant Harry Sullivan closed his eyes, leaning on the window of the train to London. It _had_ been the right decision to leave the TARDIS and reunite with his old UNIT friends, back on terra firma, and nineteen-seventies Britain. One time, one place, that's good for him, Harry thought. Ah, he'd had a laugh hadn't he? Rollicking around in that rackety old Police Box. Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarons, he had seen the worst of the universe hadn't he?

Truth was, he realised he just wasn't cut out for this kind of adventuring. He'd tried so hard, especially when Sarah-Jane was around, but, as they had battled shape-shifting Zygons under Loch Ness, Harry realised it was time to stop. He'd said his goodbyes to the Doctor and to Sarah-Jane, and wished them on their way. He smiled faintly. They were probably knee-deep in some adventure or another by now.

Harry had telephoned up Mike Yates, and told him he'd be in London by six. The lovely fellow had then offered to put him up for the night, but Harry politely declined, preferring instead to visit his family, just to check that they were alright. Harry grinned inwardly. 'Maybe to check that the TARDIS _did_ get the right date.' Yes he'd like to check that they were alright.

Maybe he'd reapply for UNIT, resume his old post. He half-hoped Sarah-Jane and the Doctor would pop in for visits, but he knew in his gut that that wasn't likely. They were too busy seeing the world, and Harry could tell that they were suited to it, and each other. Best friends, perhaps more, and he hadn't had a shot in Hell at getting in with them. Not that he'd minded. He was already too busy trying to figure out what was going on half the time to care about how close he'd get to either of them.

Yes, he'd keep an eye out. Maybe he'd settle down instead, get a civilian job. Work without aliens. The compartment door slid open and a young man in a trench coat came in. He winked at Harry and sat down.

"Good morning." Harry said cheerfully.

"Captain Jack Harkness," the man replied in an American accent, grinning cheekily, "And who are you?"

Harry blushed furiously. What was wrong with him? "Harry Sullivan."

The man's eyes widened, "You knew the Doctor right? Used to work at UNIT?"

"Yes I did. What's it to you?"

"I'm an old friend of his. I'm sorry for intruded. I was told you'd be on the train by now. Just received a phone call. Old friend calling in a favour. Listen, how about you come and work for me? I got a job vacancy at an organisation called Torchwood. We specialise in recruiting people like you. We need a medic."

It was Harry's turn to widen his eyes, "Torchwood? I've heard of you! You're that top secret organisation, part of the government aren't you?"

Jack grinned, "No, that's UNIT. We don't exactly get on with the government." He gave Harry a white card, "Call me." He winked, and with that, was gone.

Harry stared at the card for a while, before slipping it into his pocket, and leaning back against the window. The sun peeked over the hills of Northumberland, and the day began. Harry smiled, the rays of yellow light revitalising him. It would be a good day after all.

**Hi, sorry for not updating in a few days!**

**Also, couldn't resist adding in Torchwood, why couldn't Harry go work for them for a while? After all, Martha did. The chapter was a bit short, but that's because I don't know Harry all too well. I found him a great character in **_**Robot**_**, so I put him early on in the 'story.'**


	5. Chapter 5: An Interesting Education

An Interesting Education

"Professor!" the seventeen-year-old Ace whined, "Why do I have to go and study at this stupid Time Lord Academy?"

Her guardian, the Doctor, turned around impatiently, and then began explaining, with the air of someone who had told this story a thousand times before, "Ace," he said, his Scottish burr ever present, "Think of it as an _experience_. A chance to show off to all your Earthling friends just how brilliant you are. Or," he added, noting the frown she gave off, "think of it as a chance to show the Time Lords they're wrong."

Ace arched an eyebrow, "Are you sure you're not just trying to show off how brilliant humans are? Or trying to show the Time Lords they're wrong." She sighed when the Doctor smiled conspiratorially, which only served to frazzle her already over-wrought nerves, "Sometimes I think we're just pawns in your chess games."

The Doctor's expression immediately turned into one of tenderness; evidently she _still_ hadn't got over the encounter with Fenric "I'm sorry Ace. I'm too cold, you're right. A product of my people through and through. But you can give them a chance to see the light again! Show them what the human race can do. You're not a chess piece to me. You never were. You're like my own daughter, and you are so, so precious to me. Do this for me, if not for yourself Ace."

She thought for a while, and then grinned. The Doctor relaxed. She scared him sometimes. Imagine that! Him! The Doctor, scared of a human teenager. Never in his 700 years had he ever thought something so unintelligent. The nerve his brain had sometimes. She reminded him a little of Arkitiyor, back in the days before she was Susan. Back when he was a grumpy young man trying to be old. He should have waited really. Anyway, Ace was here! The Time Lord Academy. She'd be a right proper lady, to use her terminology. "Alright Professor." she conceded.

"Thank you. And how many times to I need to tell you?" he gently admonished, "It's Doctor!"

She laughed. They walked up to the entrance to the Head Cardinal's office. A burly dark-haired Time Lord guard stood outside. His uniform marked him out as a member of the Pyrdonian Chapter. The Doctor smiled broadly, despite the guard observing them warily. "Hello!" he beamed, "A fellow member, good to see you! We're here to see the Head Cardinal, who is it at the moment? Sorry, I just haven't been here for at least seven hundred local years."

"Head Cardinal Braxtiel will see you shortly." the guard intoned, and the Doctor froze.

"What is it Professor?" Ace asked, concerned for the wellbeing of her mentor, "Is something wrong?"

The Doctor shook his head, "It's nothing. A familiar name, that's all."

The heavy oaken doors swung open, and a short Time Lord with receding red hair and kind brown eyes, clad in the characteristic robes of a Time Lord, strode out. He clasped the Doctor's hand, "Long time no see little brother!" he boomed in a deep voice that reminded the Doctor of his fourth incarnation.

"Indeed Braxtiel." the Doctor murmured, drawing out the 'r'. "How are you keeping?"

"Oh, you know, not so bad, not so bad. How is the Universe?"

"Still turning."

Braxtiel laughed, "I'll put that down to your good influence. Now," he continued, turning towards Ace, "Who is this vision I see before me?"

"Ah," the Doctor said, immediately brightening under the change of topic, "This is Ace, the human who I enrolled in the Academy."

"Ah yes. Miss McShane, wasn't it? A pleasure, I'm sure." he kissed her hand. Ace couldn't help but giggle. She'd heard all about how pretentious Time Lords were, but she was starting to like Braxtiel, even for all his evident crassness and pomp.

"The pleasure is all mine." she replied, blushing slightly.

Braxtiel roared with laughter. "Come now Ace. Let us discuss logistics in my office. Ah, Doctor, please have a seat out here."

"I'd rather come in if it was all right with you, brother." the Doctor's voice was hard, challenging. Braxtiel stood his ground.

"Of course, Theta." he spat.

The Doctor flinched. Ace was shocked. What did this mean? Why had he called the Doctor 'Theta?' was that his real name? Some childhood disagreement? Something more nefarious, perhaps? Ace decided to let it go, rather than press the issue further. She decided to step in, "Why don't we discuss this further in your office, Head Cardinal?" she said, rather shortly, she had to admit, but both the Time Lords backed off. Ace had feared that if they didn't drop this, her place at the Academy would be forfeit.

XXXXX

Two hours of tedious logistics talk later, Ace plodded out of the office, the Doctor right behind her. Braxtiel stood at the door, smiling cheerfully. God, did that guy ever run out of energy? "Your first class is one hour after daybreak tomorrow!" he called after her. "Make sure you are on time!" Typical headmaster. Ace rushed off to grab her suitcase from the TARDIS. She stopped for a second to admire the new desktop the Doctor had set. Gothic, very nice. It suited him. She grabbed her bags and the Doctor helped her carry them up to her room. He helped her unpack, and not a word was said between them.

"Well that was interesting." she said after about twenty minutes, unable to bear the silence anymore.

"Hmm?" he wasn't even listening. Typical.

"Meeting your brother."

"Half." he retorted, "A word of warning Ace." she turned to listen, "Don't trust anyone. Time Lords are vindictive, cruel, far more so than you think. Everything about us is generally exaggerated. It's one of the disadvantages of being able to have multiple personas. Some qualities are repressed, others exploded. All I'm saying is be careful. I wouldn't want–"

She cut him off with a hug. Ace wrapped her arms around the Doctor, and for once, he didn't protest. Her eyes moistened slightly, but she refused to cry. He gently stroked her hair, comforting her with his warmth. After a couple of minutes, they broke apart. His eyes were glistening, "You're like a daughter to me Ace. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. I –I love you like family."

"I love you too Doctor."

They stayed like that on the bed for a while, just glad to be in each other's company. For what they both knew would be the last time for a very long while.


	6. Chapter 6: The First Ones

The First Ones

Ian Chesterton sat in the chair next to the fire, looking at his wife, his once –and in his opinion still – beautiful wife, Barbara. The year was 2013, fifty years after they had started travelling with the wondrous man that was the Doctor. Now, after all this time, Ian feared that his old body was giving up on him. Too much comfortable living had put a strain on his health, and it was getting harder every day. Barbara had asked him several weeks earlier whether or not he should resign from his post as chief of governors at Coal Hill School, but Ian was adamant that he stay at the position until he died. "After all," he'd told Barbara, "If it wasn't for that old school, you and I would've never met."

"What's the date, darling?" Barbara's whisper broke through his reverie. After her sight had gone a few years back, she'd tended not to notice the passage of time.

"23rd of November 2013 dear." Ian replied tenderly. "D'you remember what happened fifty years ago today?"

"Of course I do, I'm blind, not _senile_."

Ian smiled wanly. It had been a good fifty years. In the seventies they had tried for a baby, but to no avail. They had adopted a bouncing baby boy, named by his parents Dave Oswald. He'd grown into a bright young lad, and was living with his family somewhere in London city centre. He, his wife and his daughter hadn't visited in a long while, not since the accident. Poor Clara must've been about twenty-four by now. Apparently she'd started working up at the school, but Ian had never seen her, mostly because he didn't frequent it as much as he'd used to.

"Fifty years ago today." Barbara murmured.

Ian nodded, "Feels like yesterday, doesn't it?"

"Not to these old bones."

Ian chuckled. "Wonder how he is."

Barbara looked over at Ian, gazing at him through foggy eyes. Oh, how it broke Ian's heart to see her so vulnerable, "He's fine. He's got Vicki to look after him, remember?"

"Yes, but it was so long ago. Mustn't he have died by now?"

Barbara smiled conspiratorially, "You know what I think?"

"No."

"I think that time is relative. Think about it. It's a lot like space, really. Remember when we went back to ancient Rome? Those people have been dead for centuries, but to the Zarbi, who we met from the future, _we've_ been dead for centuries. But we met them. The Doctor _can't_ be dead; he's far too obstinate, for one thing. But in the TARDIS, he could be anywhere in time and space. D'you remember that business with the ATMOS? Or that time when all the shop window dummies went bananas?"

"Which one?" asked Ian, smiling as he did so.

Barbara shook her head, "Both. Back in '70 and 2005." she paused, "I reckon he was there. Right in the thick of it. And a hundred more times I should think. There's life in that old buzzard yet Ian, mark my words."

Ian held his hand out, bridging the gap between his wife's chair and his own. "I shan't think we'll be around much more to appreciate him my darling."

"No, no I shouldn't think so." Barbara looked over at him, "Time to get our rest."

Ian looked at her, right into her misty eyes, and he could have sworn she could see him one more time. And, just like that, an understanding came between the old History teacher, and her husband the old Science teacher. In perfect synchronicity, both put down their cups of tea, relaxed in their chairs and closed their eyes. Ian put one hand on his chest, the other still clasping Barbara's. The old lady put _her_ other arm on the arm of the chair. Both breathed their last.

XXXXX

At the funeral, a middle-aged Dave Oswald hugged his daughter –Clara –tight. Her tears ran into his jacket. Unbeknownst to him, the Doctor had dropped Clara off earlier that day, but he didn't know what for. After the funeral, a battered old Police Public Call Box faded into existence outside her house. Clara went to open the TARDIS doors.

"So," the Doctor was jabbering on, "I was thinking, how about a trip to Roman times. We could meet Cleopatra, see if she still has a thing for me…" he trailed off when he saw her red eyes.

He instantly moved over to her, holding her tight, "Clara, what's wrong?"

"S'nothing." she sniffed.

"Evidently _something's_ wrong." he cooed, kissing the top of her head, "What is it?"

"My Gran and Grandpa just died." she sniffled. "Just a shock, that's all."

"Hey, that's OK," the Doctor murmured, "How about we postpone our trip to Ancient Rome. You have a day with your family. I'll come round tomorrow; see you you feel, yeah?"

She nodded, before leaving the TARDIS. The Doctor sighed, before swivelling the monitor round. He pulled up Clara's file from the Universal Census, 2385. He searched for a mention of family deaths around the year 2013. His hearts sank when he began reading:

_Entry dated: 4__th__ July 2385_

_Entry: Ian and Barbara Chesterton_

_Born: 12__th__ April 1936 and 25__th__ May 1939 respectively_

_Died: 23__rd__ November 2013_

_Child(ren): David Marcus Oswald_

_Current Living Relatives: __Jeanine Oswald__, __Mike Oswald__, __Annalise Noble-Oswald__ [__see more__]_

_Current Place of Residence/Rest: Shoreditch Cemetery_

Heavy hearted, the Time Lord sent out a message, keyed to a specific frequency only one person could pick up, and engaged the engines. He arrived in the graveyard. Dotted around him, were twelve almost identical Police Boxes, outside each stood a different man. Eleven looked over at his predecessors, as they all moved in unison towards a grave directly in the centre of the ring they had made. The Twelve moved as one, which they were. Eleven reached the grave first. He looked around at each of his incarnations once again, gauging their reactions. Some, like One, Ten, Four and Two, who were very close to their companions, were softly weeping. Others, like Nine, Seven, Six and The Warrior, could not find a way to express their grief. Three, Five and Eight were somewhere in the middle, Five borderline weeping, Eight somewhat confused, owing largely due to the fact that he had almost forgotten.

"I'd like to say a few words." Eleven spoke up. No-one contradicted him. No-one had the heart, "Ian, Barbara, you were our first human companions. When we –_I _–left Gallifrey I was barely an adolescent, arrogant and foolish, conditioned by my race to treat others with contempt. You were the first ones who taught me how to love, how to really love. Oh, I loved Arkytior –though you'd know her as Susan – and I had my wife back home, but you were the ones who taught me the value of all kinds of life, not just Time Lords. I've lost so much, but when I did, I always thought of you, and how you taught me to hope. Thank you, you wonderful humans."

Silence fell over the group. Each Doctor muttered a few words and left, until only One and Eleven remained. One looked up at Eleven, tears in his eyes, "Does it get any easier, my boy?"

Eleven shook his head mutely.

"You look so old." Eleven looked over, "You wear a young face, but your eyes are too old. Too old to be the Twelfth…" One trailed off as it occurred to him, "Oh. You're the last, aren't you. The last Doctor."

Eleven finally spoke, "No more after me. End of the line, boy."

One smiled at that, a weak smile. "How old are you?"

"1200. Ish. Maybe more."

"I thought we'd make more of an impact. More of a life."

Eleven looked him dead in the eye, and One shivered, "Be careful what you wish for." With that he turned, and strode back to his TARDIS.

One looked at the graves of his companions once more, before replacing his hat, and leaving the graveyard.

**A/N:**

**Hi everybody!**

**Sorry it's been so long. I've had **_**so much writers block!**_** Also, I've been writing my own story. Anyway, I'll try to update again sometime next week. I'm thinking of doing Sarah Jane. Thanks all!**

**TPOW.**


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